


smouldering flames

by oathsworn (onelastchence)



Category: League of Legends RPF
Genre: M/M, ambition needs to get his act together, mentions of flame, the saddest of crowns
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-29
Updated: 2017-01-29
Packaged: 2018-09-20 15:38:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,535
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9498719
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onelastchence/pseuds/oathsworn
Summary: Lee Minho isn't Lee Hojong. Minho knows this, but Chanyong needs a little more time to realize this fact.





	

**Author's Note:**

> i initially wrote this out on my phone and it blew up into an actual fic. it's not the best quality because of this, and it kind of has no proper start nor end, but i hope you enjoy it anyways.

Minho knows, deep down inside, somewhere he doesn’t dare look, that he’s never been anyone’s first choice.

 

He knows. He isn’t his parents’ favourite child. He hadn’t been the daughter they wanted. He isn’t the fans’ favourite player. He hadn’t been that superstar of a player. He isn’t the world’s best midlaner. He hadn’t yet surpassed Lee Sanghyeok. He isn’t the one Chanyong wanted most.

 

He isn’t Lee Hojong.

 

Minho isn’t _stupid_ ; he knows that Chanyong would drop him for Hojong in a heartbeat.

 

In the beginning, when Chanyong had finally agreed to start this, whatever this was between them, Minho had entertained thoughts of Chanyong actually loving _him_ most. They’d just been empty thoughts, in the end.

 

For 2 months Minho had floated through life, and what he always used to tease Jaehyuk for he now understood. There was some small measure of happiness in seeing Chanyong everyday, and Minho had gladly taken it.

 

Chanyong had gotten himself drunk when he’d lost the second game in a row during Spring split with the responsibility of caring for their drunk captain falling onto Minho. He’d needed help - despite protests - to carry said captain back into their room but otherwise they were left alone.

 

Minho sighs and tugs the jacket off of Chanyong, pulling his shirt over his head with some difficulty. He was about to go grab a warm washcloth when Chanyong’s arm shot out with surprising accuracy for someone so drunk. “Stay,” Chanyong mumbles.

 

Minho watches him for a couple of seconds before he agrees, letting Chanyong tug him into his arms. “Your hair smells different,” Chanyong says. “Did you switch shampoos?”

 

“No,” Minho replies, absently drawing shapes on Chanyong’s chest. “It’s the same as always.”

 

“Smells like Minho’s.”

 

Minho looks up, then, at Chanyong’s face. He’s smiling stupidly, and Minho’s chest tightens. “Do you like Minho?” He asks, voice soft.

 

Chanyong seems to think about this for a long time, and Minho is left to overthink. “Yeah, I think so,” Chanyong says, matter-of-fact, like he isn’t breaking Minho’s heart. “Not as much as I like you, though.”

 

Minho laughs weakly, sadly. He knows who Chanyong thinks he’s talking to. “Minho likes you a lot, too.”

 

Chanyong hugs him tighter and his voice is almost petulant when he says: “Can we not talk about Minho?”

 

Minho turns his face away and wills himself not to cry. “Yeah,” He says. “Let’s not talk about Minho.”

 

Chanyong seems satisfied by this and starts to pull at Minho’s clothes. “Come on, Hojong,” He mutters, and Minho can’t help the tear that he sheds. Chanyong notices and wipes it away. “You okay?”

 

Minho nods and hits Chanyong, pushing him back down onto the bed. “Not tonight. You’re drunk. Tomorrow, maybe.”

 

Chanyong looks like he wants to argue but quickly shuts up when Minho makes to get out of bed. “No, I’ll be good!” He cries out, voice strained. “Don’t go.”

 

Minho wishes, would trade so much, for Chanyong to say that to him, knowing that it was _him_. “I won’t. You should sleep.”

 

“‘Kay,” Chanyong says, docile. “Goodnight, Hojong.”

 

Minho watches as Chanyong closes his eyes and waits for the snoring to start, hand clutched in both of Chanyong’s. He’s sitting on the bed, leaning against the headboard. He tugs his knees to his chest, his eyes on Chanyong but mind far, far away.

 

“Goodnight, Chanyong-hyung.”

 

* * *

 

 

Jaehyuk’s the first to find him rummaging through the medicine cabinet for muscle ache relief gel the next morning and he grins. “Had a good night, then?”

 

Minho looks at him and Jaehyuk jumps back a little at how red his eyes are and how dark the bags under his eyes are. “No,” Minho replies softly, none of his usual bite present. “Not really.”

 

He sighs and starts to walk away but Jaehyuk catches him and pins him to the cabinets. “What’s wrong, hyung? Did you cry the whole night?”

 

Minho shakes his head but Jaehyuk isn’t an _idiot_ so he keeps pressing Minho. Minho would never let his emotions get the upper hand of him like this unless it was something serious.

 

Minho sighs and shakes his head. “Hyung called me Flame last night.”

 

There’s a crash that echoes the shock and anger that flashes in Jaehyuk’s eyes. They both spin around to see Chanyong standing there, eyes wide and hand bleeding from where he’d cut himself from dropping his glass.

 

Chanyong looks like he’s seen a ghost; Minho has never seen him so pale. While any other time, Minho would go up to him to ask him what was wrong but today he is too tired, too hurt.

 

He leaves and Chanyong doesn’t stop him. He doesn’t know if he wanted him to or not.

 

Minho applies the gel slowly, running his finger along his calendar. He’d drawn a tiny little star on the day that Chanyong had asked to start this thing they had between them. The date looks familiar.

 

Taking his phone out, Minho opens Naver and types in “Flame joins Immortals” into the search bar.

 

 _9 December_ , says the websites. Minho looks up at his calendar, at the date with the star. _10 December_.

 

Minho laughs. In the end, Chanyong hadn’t asked him because he wanted to give them a chance. He’d asked because he couldn’t have Hojong.

 

Minho takes back everything he’s thought about himself.

 

He actually _is_ stupid.

 

* * *

 

 

Chanyong doesn’t say anything about that night. Neither does Minho.

 

Jaehyuk watches him out of the corner of his eyes, now, but Minho ignores it. He doesn’t need Jaehyuk’s pity, even if he knows it’s more concern than anything else.

 

“Hyung,” Minho calls on a night that they have off. “Let’s go get chicken.”

 

Chanyong looks up from his computer like he’s been electrocuted, looking at Yongin like he expects Minho to be talking to him instead. Minho waits, patient, until Chanyong nods slowly and grabs his coat and wallet.

 

They leave and take the lift down. Minho grabs Chanyong’s hand when they’re on the street and pulls him along. “Come on!” He cheers, excited. “Chicken’s waiting for us!”

 

Something in Chanyong’s vision blurs, and _“Come on, asshole, the chicken’s all going to be gone if you don’t hurry.”_ flashes in his mind. It’s gone as quickly as it came, and all he sees then is Minho’s excitement.

 

 _He’s cute_ , Chanyong thinks. _He should smile more._

 

Minho tugs him into the chicken outlet they like the frequent - that is _not_ the sponsor for bbq olivers, thank you very much - and sits them down. He rattles off their order to the waiter, Chanyong not even needing to say anything.

 

“You remember what I like to eat?” Chanyong asks.

 

Minho gives him a weird look. “We come here quite often, hyung. Plus, you always get the same thing. Why wouldn’t I remember?”

 

Hojong didn’t.

 

Chanyong falls silent, then, and they don’t speak as they wait for the chicken. It arrives pretty quickly, piping hot and extra greasy. Minho grabs his portion and starts tearing into a piece with what seems to be ravenous hunger.

 

“Slow down,” Chanyong laughs. “You’ll choke.”

 

Minho shakes his head, slurping down a mouthful of Coke. “It’s good, though.”

 

Chanyong smiles, then, fond. Minho is still young, and while an adult, still possesses childlike traits. Chanyong finds he wants to protect him.

 

Chanyong wants to make him smile.

 

The realization comes as a shock to him, and he stops eating. Minho looks questioningly at him, but he shakes his head. “Nothing,” He reassures. “I’m okay.”

 

Minho shrugs, accepting his answer. Chanyong continues to eat, chewing slowly in thought.

 

When they finish, Chanyong pays the bill despite Minho’s protests that they make the same amount of money, using his hyung card to get Minho to accept. They walk back, side by side.

 

“Aren’t you going to break up with me?”

 

Minho looks up, confused, and Chanyong clarifies. “For that night.”

 

Minho’s eyes dim, all exuberance gone, and Chanyong is once again seized by that overwhelming urge to make Minho smile.

 

“If you were dating Flame,” Minho starts. “And he got drunk and thought you were, I don’t know, Shy, maybe, would you break up with him?”

 

Chanyong doesn’t answer, and Minho laughs.

 

“Of course you wouldn’t,” He says. “Because it’s better to have half of him than not at all.”

 

“Maybe I don’t even have half of you, hyung,” Minho comments casually, like his vision isn’t being blurred by tears, like he isn’t so, _so_ sad. “But I can at least pretend.”

 

Minho doesn’t say anything after that, and Chanyong doesn’t know how to respond. He thinks about Hojong, about the pictures that he saw of him with Dardoch, and he kind of wants to throw up. There’s something in him that doesn’t want to accept it, that whatever he had with Hojong was now gone; The other didn’t even seem to have any regrets.

 

Chanyong has many.

 

They reach their building soon enough. When Chanyong looks over at Minho, the younger boy looks tired, so different from how he had looked when they left. It was his fault, Chanyong knew, but what could he do?

 

They enter their dormitory and Jaehyuk rushes over when he sees the way Minho is slumped over. Yongin takes it from there, leading Minho away while Jaehyuk looks like he’s about to burst into tears.

 

“You’re an asshole,” Jaehyuk says to him. “Hyung really likes you but all you do is hurt him. If you don’t like him then don’t date him. Don’t give him false hope.”

 

He runs off in a huff, presumably to go look after Minho as well. Chanyong stands there, alone, a little shocked. Jaehyuk had never spoken to him like that before.

 

“He’s right, you know.”

 

Chanyong turns around to see Seongjin sitting at the dining table, chopsticks in one hand and his bowl of noodles in another. Seongjin swallows his mouthful of noodle and raises an eyebrow at him. “You shouldn’t keep hurting Minho-hyung. Either you like him or you don’t. Don’t pretend you do. It’s just going to hurt the both of you, in the end.”

 

Seongjin doesn’t say anything else after that, and Chanyong wonders when his team had grown up.

 

He enters the room that he shares with Minho after a couple of hours of thinking to find the other boy sleeping. He sighs and sits on the edge of the bed, taking his time to just _look_ at Minho.

 

He isn’t Hojong, Chanyong knows. He can’t help but think about Hojong whenever he looks at Minho because Hojong was the only one he had had, the only comparison that he could make. It didn’t help, of course, that he had been entirely enamoured with Hojong, had cooked up fantasies in his own mind about how their relationship would go.

 

“I’m sorry,” He whispers, so as not to wake him up, running his hand through Minho’s hair. “I’ve been unfair to you, haven’t I?”

 

Minho shifts in his sleep, moving closer to Chanyong’s warmth, and Chanyong smiles. He climbs into Minho’s bed as carefully as he can, trying his best not to jostle Minho awake. “Hyung?” Minho asks despite all his effort, blinking blearily up at him.

 

“Shh,” Chanyong shushes, one hand rubbing down Minho’s back in an attempt to soothe him back to sleep. “Go back to sleep.”

 

Minho frowns, then pouts at him. “I don’t want to wake up.”

 

“Mm?”

 

“If I go back to sleep, I’ll wake up,” Minho explains, and Chanyong understands then. “I don’t want to wake up.”

 

“You think you’re dreaming?”

 

Minho giggles, then, reminiscent of when he was drunk that one time and went around the dormitory bothering their coach, Youngjae and Jaehyuk. He reaches out to boop Chanyong on the nose with his index finger. “Chanyong-hyung would never come cuddle me,” He says. “Of course I’m dreaming.”

 

Chanyong swallows thickly. Was this how Minho saw him? Was this how he had been treating Minho these past 2 months, that Minho would think that him coming to hold him in his sleep was him dreaming?

 

“Go back to sleep, Minho,” Chanyong orders. Minho frowns again, starting to shake his head, but Chanyong refuses to relent. “Sleep. Tomorrow, when you wake up, I’ll still be here. Then you’ll know that you’re not dreaming.”

 

“You won’t be here,” Minho shouts, vehement. “You’re not real!”

 

Chanyong tugs him close, Minho’s face tucked into the juncture between his shoulder and neck. “Sleep,” He says, pressing a kiss to the crown of Minho’s head. “I promise I’m real. I promise I’ll be here.”

 

“Promise?” Minho sniffs, hands bunching into fists in Chanyong’s shirt.

 

“Promise,” Chanyong says. “I promise, Minho.”

 

“I’m scared,” Minho admits, eyes closing slowly. “Please be here. Please be real.”

 

Chanyong’s heart aches, and he tugs Minho closer, as close as he can, holding him tight. “I’m real. I’m sorry, Minho.”

 

Minho’s breathing evens out after a while, Chanyong holding him through it. He thinks of Minho’s smile and his laughter, the tears he shed when they managed to beat KT in the gauntlet and the glee in his eyes when they won IEM Gyeonggi.

 

“Sleep well, Minho,” Chanyong whispers. “I hope, at least, in your dreams you don’t think too badly of me.”

 

* * *

 

 

Minho wakes up the next day to a cold bed and disappointment. He stares at the spot beside him for a while, then sighs. Of course it had only been a dream. Despite all reassurances that he was real, Chanyong hadn’t been, and Minho had, once again, been the idiot who’d trusted.

 

He steps out of bed, yawning and rubbing one eye with his fist when his foot makes contact with not the cold floor that he was expecting, but a warm, squishy surface that responds with a grunt.

 

Minho looks down, blinking.

 

Chanyong bolts upright, hair messed up in the back and face coloured with panic. He looks up to make eye contact with Minho, then grins sheepishly up at him. “Good morning.”

 

Minho doesn’t know what to think, so he stays silent. What was Chanyong doing on the floor next to his bed?

 

Chanyong seems to sense his confusion and unease, standing up clumsily. He reaches out to wipe away the trace of tear tracks from Minho’s cheek, thumb brushing along the contour of his cheekbones. “Did you sleep well?”

 

“What’re you doing on my floor?” Minho demands without answering the question.

 

Snorting, Chanyong runs a hand through his own hair. “You kicked me off the bed in the middle of the night,” He explains, stretching his sore back muscles. “Then you spread out like a starfish so I couldn’t get back on. I didn’t want to wake you up, so I slept on the floor.” He smiles, here, expression fond. “I promised you I would be here when you woke up.”

 

_“I promise I’m real. I promise I’ll be here.”_

 

Minho swallows, then looks up at Chanyong. He looks a little tired, as to be expected from the less than spectacular night he had on the cold, hard floor, but otherwise he’s still cheerfully waiting for Minho’s answer.

 

“Yeah,” Minho finally manages to croak out, voice thick. “Yeah, you did.”

**Author's Note:**

> please do leave me comments and/or kudos! it really brightens up my day to see them left on my fic ; u ; /


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